And Under We Go
by threeninefour
Summary: The Final Problem one-shot. The Holmes brothers. (and a sister.) Explores Mycroft's thoughts when he tried to sacrifice himself, and also a new perspective on Mycroft and Eurus. Be warned, it's angst-filled, and also with an unexpected turn. Please review if you liked it! "The East Wind's coming, Mycroft." "Goodbye, brothermine."


**And Under We Go 2** **  
** _A Sherlock One-Shot_ _  
Season 4 Episode 4, The Final Problem  
_ ~•~

 **A/N:** Absolutely loved the latest episode and I couldn't resist the urge to pen this down.  
 **  
Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock BBC.

* * *

 _The East Wind's coming, Mycroft._

Mycroft had known the whole time. He knew the game Eurus was playing and he knew what she wanted Sherlock to do. He knew that she craved to analyse humans and their _feelings_ , like a pathologist, slicing the body open and scouring the organs for clues; information. _Specifically, her brother's._ She wanted to mess with them. _Play_ with them. Unravel them. She wanted to slice them open and prod and fiddle and torture and— _Watch. Them. Break._ _  
_  
Mycroft Holmes tried to keep his calm. He may seem to have triumphed. But he himself know his limit, and the said limit was slowly being exceeded as the seconds ticked by. Bits of turmoil inside were leaking and seeping through the gashes on his body, in his soul. A result of sentiment. He had always told Sherlock that caring is a disadvantage. _I should have had taken my own advice_ , he laughed at himself in his mind.  
 _  
You have no idea what you're dealing with. None at all._

The moment Eurus told Sherlock that he would have a use for the gun later, Mycroft realised. He was smarter than Sherlock, oh yes— Sherlock's feelings and heart messes with his mind. Mycroft had almost nothing worth to meddle his thoughts and clarity. _(Almost.)_ He knew there was only one bullet left and he knew he had to be the one with it _lodged in his heart._

Mycroft could not have Sherlock kill his best friend. Not after what happened to the previous one. _(VictorVictorVictorVictorVictor)_ He tried to stand at the sidelines and let his brother solve the Garridebs case. He failed. He saw Sherlock lose it after Miss Hooper's case, and saw him hold it all back again.

They were entering the next room. The next stage; challenge; game— the next choice. He heard what Eurus said, he sensed Sherlock's raging conflict, he knew his brother could not take much more. Mycroft then forced the words out of his mouth. _(Victor at the back of his mind.)_

"We aren't seriously discussing this, are we?"

He desperately wanted this to work.  
 _  
This is a private matter._

Mycroft knew that his grip was slipping; he was putting too much force in his words. Insults poured out and out and out and he could not stop even though he knew he was doing it all _wrong._

 _John stays._

"Stop it," Sherlock gritted out.  
 _  
This is family._

Mycroft tried one more time. _(VictorVictorVictorJohnVictorJohnJohnVictor)_ He failed once more, and smiled bitterly in response. He listened to Sherlock informing John of his intentions, and the gashes on his body (gaps in his soul) starts to slowly close up.  
 _  
That's why he stays._

"Which is why this is going to be so much harder." Sherlock raises his arm and the barrel of the gun is then pointed point blank at Mycroft.

Mycroft could not deny that he was not scared. He felt the fear of death from his rapidly-beating heart _(does he have one?),_ but he also felt himself embracing it with every cell of his body.

He voiced to his younger brother the details he wanted at his funeral.

 _—He loses his secret and it leaks out like poison and makes John take a step back and he can see the anger in his younger brother's eyes and Moriarty appears and Holmes killing Holmes—_

He steeled himself for the pain, the agony, the relief that Sherlock would still have his best friend— but it never came.

"-Oh, no, not on my watch."

Something clicked in Mycroft's brain and Sherlock's lowering of arm proved that Mycroft was finally correct. He understood that he made a mistake in his deductions. He was wrong in one thing. _(How he hoped he wasn't.)_ _  
_  
Sherlock will be in the depths of agony without John but—  
 _  
Goodbye, brothermine.  
_  
—he also couldn't live without his brother.

Mycroft's blood ran cold and he stared with his eyes and saw Sherlock placing the cold and freezing muzzle under his chin and heard his brother's (stupid, so stupid) speech about honouring the governor and—

 _Ten._ Mycroft could not move.

 _Nine._ His face morphed into one of horror.

 _Eight._ He could hear Eurus' screams. She demanded Sherlock to stop what he was doing. (Like how she had demanded so many things so many years ago.)

 _Seven._ His younger brother was still counting down.

 _Six._ John glanced frantically at him and back at Sherlock.

 _Five._ Something hits it's target and Sherlock reached behind his neck.

 _Four._ John flinched.

 _Three._ Sherlock took it off and a nail was held between his fingers.

 _Two._ Sherlock fell. Mycroft felt a sear of pain at the back of his own neck.

He started to sink into the tendrils of darkness.

 _One._  
 _  
(VictorVictorJohnJohnVictorSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlock)_  
 _  
Your loss would break my heart._

Silence.

* * *

Mycroft's eyes flew open, and there was a deep throbbing at the back of his head. He was aware that his back was on a cold, hard floor.

A cluck of annoyance.

He shot up as fast as he could, nerves tingling at the sound of Eurus. She sat on a chair, a metre away from him.

" _Brothermine."_

Mycroft took a deep gasp of air. An emotion pricked every inch of his body; it caused his instincts to haul the contents of his stomach up, made him want to back away and get up and run, escape— _fear_. Fear flickered so, so near. (Why didn't he kill her when he had the chance? Oh, right. _Sentiment.)_

"Do it fast. Please."

"No, no, no. Where will the pleasure be, then?"

"Please, Eurus."

"Mycroft Holmes. Brother of Sherlock Holmes. Eldest son of Mummy and Daddy Holmes."

"Eurus—"

" _You will suffer, Mycroft."_

"—get this over with."

" _I will make you suffer and I will not end your life the way you want me to,_ " she smiled and responded, "Uncle Rudi wannabe, weren't you?"

"Craving for attention, for something to excel in. No, I was too clever, too calculating, scrutinizing for my own good and for anyone else! And good, sensible Mycroft listens to Uncle Rudy and places _HIS SISTER IN THE HIGHEST CLASS PRISON._ "

She leapt like a lion and in the whim of a second her elbow pressed against his throat and he struggled like a dying lamb. She noticed and pressed down harder, eyes gleaming like she enjoyed his growing discomfort and lack of oxygen.

His lungs started to burn and he struggled and struggled but she never let go and so he relaxed and stared back into those frenzied orbs of hers with whatever decreasing energy he had. Her mouth formed a small _O_ and she released her hold on him, seemingly surprised that he would give up so easily.

"Not as strong as I thought you'd be, brother."

He noticed that she changed her course. (and he once more wished that Sherlock had pulled the trigger.)

He continued to breathe in as much air as he could, and bit out, "Pray tell."

She let out a peal of laughter and it shot through Mycroft like a thousand sharpened knifes and he shivered in cold, dark fear. (He had always been scared of her.)

"No, Mycie. I will not kill you."

He recovered enough for another remark. "Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

She chuckled once more. "I don't expect you to. I will not kill you, but I will let you live in the consequences of your actions and let you drown in your own tortured feelings like they were hot steaming blood suffocating you from inside out with _no one pulling you out from it_."

"Exactly like how _you. Made. Me. Suffer."_

He coughed shakily in response to her threat.

 _The roads we walked have demons beneath._

And his finally caught up with him. Those sealing gashes of his soul split wide open once more and he almost chokes on his own laughter filling in the air and he could hear it resonate in Eurus' old cell.

 _That I am lost. Oh, who will find me, deep down below, the old bench tree?_

Her laughter joined his, and he closed his eyes once more.

 _Help succour me now, the East Wind's blowing, sixteen by sixteen, brother._

He sank into the realm of unconsciousness again with laughter echoing in his mind and his own self in tatters and destroyed into pieces just like her.

* * *

 _And under we go._

 _"Why did you do that, Eurus?"_

 _"To see how my muscles worked."_

 _"Did you feel pain?"_

 _"Which one?"_

 _"W-Which one?"_

 _"Yours?"_

* * *

 **A/N:** I swear, it was not supposed to end so twisted and dark. Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss once more excelled themselves with the writing of Eurus Holmes and The Final Problem. I absolutely loved Mycroft in this scene and episode. (Oh, the angst.) I hope I did alright enough, and that it wasn't confusing. Some parts may not tally with the episode; I wrote this just with my memory. Do leave a review if you liked it, and I may continue with this one-shot if the responses are well. If you loved this and didn't leave a comment or a review, however, just to remind you, _the East Wind's coming._


End file.
